The goosebumps Hexa’s words had triggered hadn’t faded when the first impact hit. A deafening crash reverberated through the caravan, followed by the unmistakable vibrations of magic slamming into its armored exterior. Screams of alarm erupted from the passengers, and I gripped the edge of my seat, heart hammering.
“Subsonic discharges still detected,” Hexa informed me, her tone as cold and clinical as ever. “They’re rapid, clustered—
The caravan lurched again, jarring everyone against their seats. The heavy thud of boots hitting the floor echoed through the cab as the guards who had been stationed inside rushed toward the fray. Through the narrow window, I caught glimpses of chaos: flashing lights, sprays of dirt, and figures moving at terrifying speeds.
Trevor and Heinrich were both peering out the window, their faces lit by the flickering light of spells and flaming arrows. Trevor let out a low whistle, shaking his head.
“These bastards have ogres,” he muttered, more annoyed than afraid. “That’s not what you want to see on your first raid of a trip.”
Heinrich, usually quiet, grimaced but said nothing. Outside, the guards engaged the enemy, their voices a mix of commands and battle cries. Bows thrummed as arrows flew, and the harsh clash of steel meeting flesh echoed through the night.
Trevor pointed at the chaotic scene. “Look there, boy. See those robed ones? That’s not some random band of monsters—they’re zealots.”
“Zealots?” I echoed, trying to keep my voice steady.
Trevor’s face twisted into a grimace. “Fanatics. Religious types. They don’t just raid for loot or fun—they fight for the gods’ Favor. They’ll keep coming until they’re dead or the gods pull them back to the Hall of Matchmakings.”
The guards were holding their ground, aided by the caravan’s defenses—mounted traps that spewed flames and barbs, cutting down waves of goblins before they could get close. But the sheer numbers of the attackers were staggering. For every goblin that fell, two more seemed to take its place. The ogres were the worst. Massive and relentless, they lumbered forward despite the hail of arrows and spears aimed at them. Their skin, thick and mottled, turned aside some of the blows, and the collars around their necks glowed faintly, pulsing with some unseen magic. They didn’t roar or bellow like I expected—instead, they moved with a terrifying, silent purpose, their rage evident only in the destruction they left in their wake.
Two of them reached the caravan, their massive fists smashing into the outer defenses. I flinched as one guard was sent flying, his body crumpling as he hit the ground. The remaining defenders redoubled their efforts, cutting down the ogres with relentless precision. Even so, the damage they caused was enough to create openings for the goblins and orcs to climb aboard.
Trevor cursed under his breath as one of the goblins scurried up the side of the caravan. It was grotesque, its green skin glistening under the flickering light of flames. Its oily, tattered uniform was marked with crude runes and jagged stitching, giving it a feral, war-torn appearance.
“First time seeing one, boy?” Trevor asked, his voice grim. “You won’t forget it.”
I didn’t answer. The goblin leaped forward, knife in hand, only to be skewered mid-air by a spear thrown by one of the guards. It dissolved into smoke as it hit the ground, leaving only its weapon behind.
Hexa’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Battlefield analysis: the defenders are gaining the upper hand. Estimated resolution: imminent.”
I let out a shaky breath. Relief was short-lived.
A deafening shatter of magic broke the air. The barrier that protected the passengers dissolved in a swirl of smoke and light. Before anyone could react, an orc barreled through the opening, its massive frame filling the narrow passage. Its eyes gleamed with savage glee as it took in the unarmed humans before it.
The passengers screamed, scrambling away from the hulking figure. I froze, my body refusing to move. The orc raised its weapon—a jagged axe dripping with some vile substance—and stepped forward, ready to strike.
Trevor moved first.
A sword I hadn’t noticed before was in his hand, its blade gleaming as it met the orc’s axe. The clash sent sparks flying, and Trevor barked out a command. “Everyone back! Stay behind me!”
The duel was brutal. Trevor moved with surprising agility for his age, deflecting the orc’s strikes and countering with precise blows. But the orc was relentless, its strength overwhelming. One heavy kick to Trevor’s chest sent him sprawling against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Trevor!” I shouted, my voice breaking.
The older man gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, his sword trembling in his hand. With a sudden burst of speed, he dodged the orc’s next swing and slashed downward, severing its hand at the wrist. The orc howled, its blood spraying across the floor.
Then something strange happened.
A glowing sigil appeared above the orc’s head, pulsing with an eerie light. The orc stepped back, clutching its bleeding stump, and smiled—a twisted, knowing expression that sent a chill through me. It pointed its bleeding stump where a hand used to be at Trevor, as if marking him, before dissolving into smoke and vanishing.
Trevor collapsed to his knees, his sword clattering to the floor. He let out a shaky laugh, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. “Thank the gods,” he muttered. “That was just a bluff.”
The sounds of battle outside faded. The guards had pushed back the attackers, their combined efforts enough to send the survivors to the Hall of Matchmakings, as Trevor had said.
The caravan was eerily quiet in the aftermath. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and blood, the occasional crackle of fading magic traps breaking the stillness. Guards moved methodically through the carnage, retrieving weapons, dragging away bodies—both human and otherwise—and dousing smoldering flames along the caravan's exterior. It was all so routine, as if this chaos was just another day for them.
For me, it was anything but.
I sat frozen in my seat, my face pale, my hands clenched tightly around the edges of the bench. My mind churned with the image of the orc—its thick gray skin, mottled with scars, its jagged weapon dripping with something vile, its eyes alight with cruel glee. The memory of its warped smile burned in my mind. My stomach churned, and I swallowed hard, forcing back the bile rising in my throat.
Why hadn’t I done anything? Why hadn’t I used the identification ring? The thought struck me like a blow, the realization sharp and bitter. I could have learned something—anything—about it, but I had frozen. My mind had been consumed by fear, by the overwhelming presence of the orc and the malice it carried.
“Kid,” Trevor’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I looked up to see him watching me, his face still pale from his own ordeal but steady. He gestured to the blood-soaked floor where the orc had stood moments before. “You’re not the first to look like that after a raid. Won’t be the last.”
I forced a shaky breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “The way it smiled,” I said quietly. “It was... it wasn’t just attacking us. It was happy to see us.”
Trevor nodded grimly, leaning back against the wall. His sword, still slick with dark blood, rested across his lap. “That’s because it was farming us for Favor.”
“Favor?” I asked, the word sharp in my memory from our earlier conversations. “Like... the gods’ Favor?”
Trevor gave a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Exactly. The gods reward blood, kid. Every kill in a raid counts toward their tally. That orc saw us—unarmed, untrained—and it saw an easy meal. Easy points.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
My stomach turned again, but this time it wasn’t just from fear. It was disgust. “Points? Like... a game?” The idea was nauseating, yet uncomfortably familiar, a cruel echo of the MMO systems I had loved in my past life.
“It’s not just a game to them,” Trevor said, his voice low. “For the zealots, the Favor of the gods is everything. It’s what gets them stronger, earns them better skills, better gear. It’s their whole reason for living.”
The words hit me hard, settling into the pit of my stomach like a stone. I thought back to the orc’s twisted smile, to the way it had seemed almost delighted as it raised its weapon against Trevor. It wasn’t just fighting for survival. It was hunting for sport, for power.
Trevor must have noticed the look on my face because he leaned forward, his tone softening slightly. “Listen, kid. That wasn't your first raid, wasn’t it?”
Shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“Then let me give you some advice. Don’t waste time beating yourself up over what you didn’t do. Surviving a raid is an accomplishment in itself. Use it. Learn from it. Next time, you’ll be ready.”
I wanted to believe him. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure I would ever feel ready. Not for this.
The rest of the caravan seemed to pick itself up with an efficiency that only came from experience. The passengers whispered among themselves, casting wary glances at the guards as they worked. Some were pale and shaken, others oddly calm, as if this was just another bump in the road. Even the guards, despite their losses, moved with the practiced ease of people who had seen this all before.
I couldn’t stop replaying the fight in my mind, the clash of steel, the flash of magic, the guttural screams of goblins and orcs alike. And the orc’s sigil—the glowing mark that had appeared before it vanished into smoke. What did it mean? What would have happened if Trevor hadn’t been there?
Hexa’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “The orc’s behavior aligns with observed raid mechanics. Favor-based raiders often target defenseless individuals to maximize gains. However, the sigil and disappearance suggest additional conditions that warrant further analysis.”
“Yeah,” I muttered under my breath. “Great. I’ll just add ‘orc sigils’ to the list of things I don’t understand.”
Trevor’s laugh startled me. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken loud enough for him to hear. “Welcome to the real world, kid,” he said, his voice tinged with dark amusement. “Where the gods keep the rules just clear enough to make sure we don’t all die of confusion.”
I managed a weak smile, though it felt hollow. The real world, huh? It felt more like a nightmare—a world where survival meant navigating a system as brutal as it was inscrutable. Where even monsters fought not just for survival, but for something far more calculated.
As the caravan began to move again, the rhythmic hum of its enchanted wheels returned, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. I leaned back in my seat, trying to steady my breathing, but the tension in my chest refused to ease.
Trevor glanced at me one last time before closing his eyes, his face still pale but calm. “Get some rest, boy. You’ll need it.”
I nodded, though sleep felt impossible. As the caravan rumbled on into the night, I stared out the window, the dark forest stretching endlessly beyond the glass. My reflection stared back at me, pale and haunted.
A week after the first raid, the caravan felt more alive—or perhaps more restless. Every creak of the cabin and murmur from the guards seemed louder. Travelers shifted uneasily in their seats, their gazes darting toward the windows as if expecting an attack at any moment. The atmosphere wasn’t outright panic, but it was a palpable tension that had settled into the bones of everyone aboard.
Wolfhart leaned back against the cabin wall, watching Heinrich fiddle with his knife in silent concentration while Trevor hummed an old tune, seemingly unaffected by the unease around him.
“Heavy day,” Trevor remarked offhandedly, catching my glance.
“You think we’ll get hit again?” I asked, though the answer felt obvious.
Trevor just smirked, but it was Heinrich who spoke up, his voice low and gruff. “It’s been quiet too long. Feels like something’s coming.”
Hexa’s voice broke in from the back of my mind, crisp and clinical. “Based on the established raid patterns on this trip so far, the probability of an attack within the next 24 hours is 78.3%. However, these patterns can be irregular and influenced by external factors.”
“How much longer until we reach the border?” I whispered, not wanting to draw attention.
“At the caravan’s current speed, approximately two days,” Hexa replied. “We are approaching the border region between the Ash Kingdom and the Forest Kingdom of Drugar. Politically they are rivals and expect a large presence at the border.”
I frowned, processing the information. The Ash Kingdom and Drugar were infamous rivals, with tensions simmering just below the surface for decades. It was no surprise that the border would be heavily patrolled and even more heavily contested.
The caravan wasn’t helping matters by choosing defense over speed. While the reinforced cabs and enchanted barriers were impressive, their slow progress made the journey feel agonizingly drawn out. The added protection came at a price—both in terms of time and in the constant sense of vulnerability.
“Hexa, this feels like it’s dragging on forever,” I muttered under my breath.
“The caravan’s pace is deliberate,” Hexa responded. “Its size and defensive capabilities make it a target, but they also ensure survival for extended trips. Additionally, the guards’ experience and the provisions provided to passengers are substantial benefits.”
I had to admit, the food—while far from gourmet—had been a godsend for stretching my own rations. Each meal of preserved meats and hard bread felt like a small victory in maintaining my dwindling supplies. Still, the slow pace grated on my nerves.
Over the past week, Hexa and I had debated the merits and risks of raiding. The Hall of Matchmakings fascinated me as much as it terrified me. The Favor system, the potential for power, and even that strange sigil the orc had worn—it all called to the greedy, gamer-obsessed part of me that had never quite disappeared.
“Becoming a raider isn’t practical,” Hexa had said more than once during our discussions. “The risks outweigh the rewards, and the stigma attached to such a path would jeopardize your long-term survival.”
But I couldn’t shake the allure. The thought of walking into the Hall of Matchmakings, armed with my evolving skills and Sovereign Ascendance, was intoxicating. The gods had created a system where strength was currency, and if I played it right, I could climb the ladder faster than anyone.
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The morning passed uneventfully, though the tension didn’t abate. By midday, the first signs of a raid appeared on the horizon—a ripple in the air, like heatwaves distorting the trees in the distance.The heatwave was accompanied by Hexas familiar chime “Subsonic signature detected”. The guards immediately sprang into action, their movements precise and efficient.
Trevor and Heinrich watched from the window, their expressions a mix of anticipation and caution.
“Looks like we’re up,” Trevor said, cracking a grin.
I peered out the window, my stomach tightening at the sight. This time, the attackers weren’t as coordinated as the group from the first raid. Goblins poured from the treeline in chaotic waves flashes of a blue light marking their arrival, some wielding crude weapons, others unarmed.
“Coming-of-age ritual,” Trevor muttered, shaking his head.
I turned to him, confused. “What?”
“Goblins,” he said, gesturing toward the attackers. “Big tribes force the young ones into trial-by-combat. If they survive and earn enough Favor, they get a status boost back in their society. Happens more often than you’d think.”
I stared at the scene outside, my hands gripping the windowsill tightly. The goblins moved with an almost frantic energy, their small forms darting across the battlefield as the caravan’s guards met them with arrows and spells. Despite their numbers, the goblins seemed less of a threat this time.
“They’re scared,” I said, almost to myself.
“Not scared,” Trevor corrected. “Determined. They’re here to prove themselves, but they don’t want to die doing it. Can’t blame ’em for that.”
The guards made quick work of the raid, their experience and superior equipment tipping the scales decisively. A few of the goblins managed to get close to the caravan, but the enchanted traps—flame emitters and barriers—dispatched them before they could do any real damage.
The survivors disappeared into the same wispy smoke as before, their failure marked by the gods’ intervention.
“Efficient,” Hexa noted. “Minimal losses on the guards’ side. No passengers endangered.”
I nodded, though my mind lingered on the goblins. They weren’t mindless monsters; they were individuals, fighting for a chance at something greater. It was a sobering thought, one that made the stark realities of this world feel even heavier.
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Time passes and as the caravan rolled on, the towering trees of the Forest Kingdom of Drugar came into view. Their dark, sprawling canopies loomed like sentinels, casting long shadows over the road ahead. In the distance, a cluster of lights flickered—a border town nestled against the edge of the forest.
Hexa’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Analysis suggests the lights belong to an informal settlement surrounding the border outpost. These towns often form when individuals seek proximity to guard camps for protection, despite the inherent risks of the region.”
I squinted, taking in the ramshackle buildings that clung to the edges of the outpost’s walls. They weren’t quite tents, but they weren’t permanent structures either. The construction was haphazard, the materials mismatched. It was as if the residents expected their homes to be destroyed at any moment.
“A shanty town,” I murmured.
“Correct. Such settlements are not uncommon in contested regions on earth,” Hexa replied. “Their existence often complicates border security there, and worse here as they likely attract raids and other forms of aggression.”
As we drew closer, the lights grew brighter, illuminating the stark contrast between the sturdy walls of the outpost and the fragile homes beyond them. The sight left me uneasy, a reminder of just how precarious life could be in this world.
The caravan slowed as we approached the outskirts of the town, its massive wheels crunching over the uneven road.